


Always

by newtandthediamonds



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Established Relationship, Everyone kind of acts like assholes for a bit, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Jealousy, Richie likes the reader who is dating Bill, Teasing, Unrequited Crush, rip richie, rough-ish sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 07:29:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15967610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newtandthediamonds/pseuds/newtandthediamonds
Summary: Bill and Y/N are fighting.





	Always

Bill Denbrough has been officially suffering for a week now.

It all started with a lewd comment Richie made to her at a day they decided to spend at the Quarry in honor of their last week of High School. It was something along the lines of how he could give her "a nice ride" after she'd talked about how her family was going on a vacation in July where they would horseback ride up a mountain. It made his jaw clench with a small bit of anger and jealousy but he kept it to himself and quietly sat down closer to her. The Trashmouth, never meaning to do any harm of course, kept pushing his buttons though as the night progressed and the comments he kept making at his girlfriend made his blood boil with rage. But still, being the gentleman he is, all he did is squeeze her hand tight through the brunt of the dirty jokes.

He kept giving his friend pointed glares, stared nasty daggers into the back of his head when he wasn't facing him but the jokes still kept coming. And Y/N didn't say anything about it. It annoyed him, still does, that she just let him say those things about her while he was sitting right there. It stung a little more than he wished it had.

But then Richie crossed a line. He said something so sexual and disgusting about her that suddenly Bill wasn't himself anymore. Suddenly the anger and jealousy became him and he pushed his friend off the back of his seat on the log, rolling far too close to the campfire for comfort. He pushed him as hard as he could and stormed off.

He now sits in his first period class of the day, the first day of his last week of school before college, watching the board with an intent stare as his wrist curves and flexes with pen gliding across paper. AP Physics was never a class he particularly cared for all year. It was a filler, simply another thing to put on his transcript for colleges to want him more than the average student. And typically, he's absent-minded and even daydreaming during first period but today, he writes his notes fervently. It's all he can do to keep himself distracted from what really bugs him, from what really tugs at his attention. But there isn't anything he can do to stop himself from slipping back into that endless loop of the past seven days when Mr. Jacobs decides to cut off the plans he had of making them complete textbook work after notes. He couldn't help but daydream about the moment he doomed himself as he shuts his notebook.

Y/N ran after him, the light from the fire flickering into darkness the further down the dirt path back to the road they'd gotten. The stupid jokes her best friend has always made never had gotten to her and, regretfully, she never thought once that maybe they made Bill upset even if they didn't annoy her. But still, she stormed after him angrily. How could he do that? He could've talked to me instead of pushing him.

Her hands seized him under the array of stars, their friends already laughing and talking again far back from where they then stood. He can still recall her face scrunching up with frustration at his quite obvious shove, his territorial outburst that had her rolling her eyes. It wasn't her boyfriend who'd done that. Not Bill, no he had always been so sweet and mild-mannered with most people. She hadn't seen him freak out like that in years and certainly hadn't seen him push or hit someone since he and Richie fought outside Neibolt when they were merely thirteen.

Right after pushing him, he regretted it. He doesn't like resorting to petty fighting, in fact, he hates it. But what else could he do? The way Richie had talked about his girlfriend, joke or not, snapped open some stereotypically male kind of territorial side of him no one had ever seen before. He hated being so jealous-acting like the kind of person he'd scoff at. So when she explained, said it was just Richie being Richie, he truly understood what she meant. But still, he couldn't just let it go and for some reason, he couldn't get the image of her and his friend, mingled together in the same way they are in the comfort of his bedroom, out of his head. The image made him sick.

He started towards the car after her short speech without a word, afraid of what might come out of his mouth if he opened it. What Richie said was annoying, stupid, and just plain wrong when her boyfriend was sitting right there. It's fucked up that he even said those jokes about her in the first place-even more so when he said them with Bill sitting beside him. And when she reached for the passenger side door, having come with him there, he spat, "Go h-home with R-Richie why don't you."

Those words damned him.

The bell's ringing jolts him from his haze of memory and he blinks away the sleep from his eyes as he stuffs his belongings into his backpack. He still stands by the fact that what Richie said was gross and horrible, but he also doesn't disagree with Y/N. Their Trashmouth didn't mean to anger him that much. But Bill knows now, that all three of them were wrong. Her wrong for not saying shit about it, him wrong for flipping out, and Richie wrong for being such a little shit. He's not ready to get on his knees for forgiveness. He's too stubborn for that.

The bodies crowding the hallway close in on him on the way to his locker, where all but one of his friends wait for him.

"Hey!" Eddie says from beside Stan, Richie flanking him on the other side.

He smiles softly at him and slows to a stop right in front of his locker. Eddie took Richie and Y/N's side in the fight, but never said or did anything to prove so. Richie and him though...it took a few days before things were mended between them. It was hashed out in a lot of glares and one very long conversation on the porch of the Tozier's house but, they're at least talking like normal again. It's not like this fight the three of them had fractured everything. They all still sit at lunch and talk. They all interact, but now the couple sits on opposite sides of the table. Now they talk scarcely, but don't touch or hug or kiss. It's been killing him.

"What's up? AP Physics didn't k-kick my ass as it usually does t-today..."

He thumbs through the different folders lined up on the top shelf of his locker, muttering under his breath the name of the subject he pursues.

Richie speaks up, "Nice. We were just talking about this weekend. There's a party at Stacy Jennings' house, end of the year shindig, and Eds says it's an open house kind of thing. Wanna go?"

The Losers club had stopped being "Losers" soon into their Freshman year of High School. For some reason, the setting didn't have all the same kinds of bullies Middle School had because the seniors didn't tolerate that bullshit and neither did the teachers. High School, despite it's drama in a few places, is much more relaxed than Middle School was. Thus, going to parties at people like Stacy Jennings' house isn't a death sentence, it's a nice way to spend your Saturday.

He ponders on it for a few seconds then ultimately decides, "Sure. W-Why not? It's not like Y/N will w-wanna hang out."

Parties, in Derry, are always either out of control or wildly boring. There's never an in between. One party they'd gone to was so boring that they all left hours before they would have at a fun one and once...Bill was so drunk that he walked up to Y/N, asked her if she was single, and proceeded to cry when she said no. It's safe to say that if Saturday is anything like that night, it'd be an interesting end to the year.

Usually, he'll hang by her side at events like those. By later in the night they always end up going home and having sex if his parents aren't home. If they are home, he just sneaks her upstairs and falls asleep in her arms.

The chattering grows louder around him, blocking out most sound save for his friend's soft conversation. But all of that talking can't drown out the screaming thoughts in his head and the frustration that settles over his body like a venomous mist.

He misses his girlfriend desperately. And along with missing her voice, missing her gentle hugs, her insight, advice, and conversation; he misses the sex. The fact that that, of all the things he could miss during this fight, sticks out so much makes him feel pathetic. Get over yourself, he has the urge to mutter, can't you keep your dick in your pants for at least one week? So the fact that as well as not talking to him as much, her holding out on sex is getting to him.

Bill blows out a sharp breath and yanks his English folder out from the locker without giving himself another second to think about her, about the want that ravages through him. Stupid, horny teenager. I'm a sexually frustrated idiot.

"Hey!"

The familiar, light voice snaps his attention away from the piles of books and folders in his locker and to the source of it. Her voice has been such a scarce presence to him...

"Holy shit," Richie says before he can manage to shut his locker to turn around, "What happened to you?"

The Trashmouth looks over her and his eyes flicker with longing before he turns away; silently scolding himself for ogling her so obviously.

Y/N stops just in between him and Eddie, leaning against the surface of the lockers with a knowing smile. It takes every bit of courage he has to glance over at her. But one does not simply glance, when she's wearing what she's wearing now. His eyes don't glance, they devour. Because her shirt is so tight that he almost whimpers at the sight of her breasts on display-no doubt just for the sake of messing with him-through the fabric of her long-sleeve. And as he lowers his stare, it only gets worse. Her legs are exposed by the scandalously short hem of her corduroy skirt.

She calls, "Bill?"

His head snaps up, back down, then back up again. Those goddamn legs...

"Y-Yeah?"

The halls begin to clear out slightly as the bell's second ring pierces their ears and signals that they're all late for second period. Their eyes meet, a weeks worth of missing each other evident through their gaze. Y/N glances at Richie over Bill's shoulder and raises her eyebrows, the signal he's been anticipating all morning.

She's been just as miserable all week as Bill has been and it wasn't her idea to show up to school in a skirt so short she nearly feels uncomfortable sitting down in it. No-that was her friends scheming. Yesterday they all converged in the library after school, minus Bill of course, when she told them she needed help ending the argument with him. It was Stan's idea to "Buy the shortest skirt you can find and tease him all day", which got numerous additions to it. They ended up sitting there for over an hour, brainstorming ways to get their stuttering leader to stop holding his grudge from the night at the Quarry. They interrogated her, had her tell them far too much detail about their relationship, and came up with an ideal plan to have him apologizing in no time for being, as she had put it, a "sweet yet overprotective jerk".

She tugs on a piece of hair that falls over her shoulder from her ponytail. This is yet another fine tuned detail of their plan to drive him nuts; since he's told her time and time again that he loves when she puts her hair up.

"Can you meet me in the girl's locker room at lunch? We need to talk..."

Everything, from the blush flushing her face to the breasts straining against her shirt, makes him overrun with a crushing need. Not only to be with her physically, but to have her emotionally as well. This last week has been hard without his main support in life. Lonely nights when his parents don't care enough to pay him any mind are usually made better by at least a phone call to her house. This week, both of them didn't pick up the phone.

Bill and Y/N rarely do fight and when they do, it's usually over something minuscule. It goes away fast more often than not. This time is different and everyone has felt the shift in mood between them whether they'd like to admit that or not. Without them together, the whole balance of their group is thrown off. With them pitted against each other, it all falls apart and they hadn't even came to this realization until recently. It reminds Ben in particular of when his Mom and Dad, still hopelessly in love, have stupid fights every so often and start waring against one another for a week or so after. Because of this, he was actually one of the Losers who mainly orchestrated her wonderful plan and had already known of a few ways she could get him to cave.

He stammers, "O-Oh, um, s-s-sure but I w-was wondering-"

But she turns away before he can finish talking and simply says, "See you then."

The hallway is completely empty, so there is nothing to block his view of her her walking away. Bill's body slumps back against the locker and his head hits the metal with a thump as his eyes follow her lightly swaying hips until she turns a corner. Had she not walked off, he would've apologized and asked her to talk now. Had she not just strutted away with that tempting god-damned skirt, their little fight would have been over. But now he just leans against the lockers with a pained look on his face. Richie claps him on the shoulder.

"Well, you're done for aren't you, Billy?"

They all pull their backpacks onto their shoulders, taking out or putting books back in their lockers before they head off for their respective classes. He ignores Richie's comment though and rolls his eyes.

"S-Shut up, this wouldn't have h-happened if you didn't drool over my g-girlfriend," He mutters.

The rest of the Losers share a knowing glance while his back is turned. Every one of them but him knows about Y/N's plan. It took a lot of arguing and convincing to get everyone, especially Ben and Stan, who can't help but watch out for their friend, to agree to not warn Bill ahead of time. They'd planned for multiple phases of this quite extensive teasing war, but the end goal is to not even have to use all of the phases. The end goal is to get him to drop his grudge today because god, is she tired of this distance between them.

Being without Bill, Y/N quickly realized, is like losing a piece of her. It was waking up without half of her heart and having to continue through life without his morning kisses in the school parking lot or their late night phone calls. For the both of them, being without each other is miserable.

The Trashmouth says, "Hey, Hey, It's not my fault you nearly tackled me into a fire!"

He turns to see Richie pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and giving him a feline grin.

"Whatever, all I k-know is that today's gonna suck."

-

It's taking everything she has to not run into his arms every time they pass by each other in the hallway or have a class together. Before this fight, before she had to refrain from swooning over him as she usually does, she was upset that they only had one morning class together. Now that she had to sit through an entire forty minutes next to him without saying a word or meeting his more than frequent looks in her direction, she's glad for the lack of classes together.

Y/N hurries down the hallway with a hand on her pocket to keep the keys she'd swiped of her Track coach's desk from making any noise. Since it's a lunch period, there aren't any gym classes and none of the teachers or coaches are inside the locker rooms. It was Ben's genius idea for this to be their meeting place and if she's lucky, being alone together for the first time since they'd fought might encourage him to drop his grudge.

The locker room door unlocks with a click.

-

When the bell for fifth period lunch rang, Bill practically ran over his teacher trying to get out of class as fast as he could. The desperation he has at this point is too overwhelming to ignore. For example, he spent all of fourth period sitting with a blank stare and an anxiously bouncing leg. It took only twenty minutes of sitting beside him for Stan to grow annoyed with his fidgeting and tell him to quit it. But he didn't even realize how obviously antsy he'd grown while thinking about her. He just can't help it. The week he's spent alone has been nothing short of fiery hell and now that she asked him to go to the girl's locker room with her...alone? Let's just say that his thoughts that weren't about giving a full-fledged apology speech weren't so pure.

He grips the straps of his backpack with white knuckles, giving the door to the locker room a pointed stare. It's propped open with a binder. It's propped open by a binder with her looping cursive handwriting on the bottom corner where her name is signed.

"Y/N?" Bill calls out into the seemingly empty locker room, the door shutting behind him as he picks up her binder.

It's silent save for the sound of his gentle footfalls on the tiled floor. He starts down the long walkway through the room and peeks his head in the first section of lockers. It's exactly the same as the boy's locker room, just colored a horrid shade of pale yellow rather than the green he has to see when he changes for gym everyday. But the first section is empty. It seems to be an ongoing trend, the empty stalls, when he continues his way down the room.

For all of his Human Physiology/Anatomy class that he had with her third period, he couldn't stop himself from thinking about this moment. He couldn't help but go over that conversation from this morning over and over in his head until the words felt nearly foreign to him. All morning, he's been anticipating this.

"I'm over here."

The voice sounds off from the front of the room, where he'd first came in and picked up her binder. And he almost chuckles at seeing her leaning against the doorway to Mrs. Laynee's office. He swallows back the lump in his throat and absentmindedly fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt.

"I should've known you'd be in t-there," Bill says with a sheepish smile, "Y-You always find a way to surprise me."

She's still leaning against the doorway when he starts to walk back down to her. Each step he takes makes her heartbeat thunder away harder, makes her come alive with longing so desperate that she's nearly ready to pull him into a hug and never let go. But the plan rely's on him apologizing, as Richie had said, and to submit would be to "surrender". A part of her wonders if going against her own instincts is a bad idea and wonders if maybe, she should call off this idiotic plan. Maybe she should just apologize. Maybe she was in the wrong too.

The distance between them is debilitating, though it's only a few feet by the time he stops to sit on the bench of the locker stall in front of her. Those ocean eyes find her's, for the first time in days, and that's all it takes for her to melt where she stands. God, she's missed him. But if the boys find out she caved then she'll never hear the end of it.

So she musters every bit of confidence she has and gets ready to go through with the plan.

"H-How've you been? I haven't seen you in a while, even my parents were asking about y-" His eyes widen when she steps forward, her eyes still locked on his, and tugs her shirt over her head, "y-y-y-yu-you..."

The word slowly dies on his lips when her shirt hits the tiled floor with barely a hint of a noise. He has to bite his lip hard enough to nearly draw blood to keep what would've been a needy moan from flying out. Maybe apologizes can happen later...because now that that tight-god blessed in his opinion-shirt has been peeled off of her, it's hard to remember the speech he'd planned that had involved a lot of apologizing and too many "I love you's" to count. He hadn't expected this. He only figured it'd be a bonus to getting her back if it did happen at all. The skin of her near naked torso looks just like he can remember it being the last time he'd touched it. And his mind involuntarily flashes back to the last time he'd taken her; how her body so perfectly responsive to him, her kisses fervent and slow, silk skin ablaze with a scarlet flush. And because of this, the tauntingly sexy memory, he can't help but see her legs wrapping around him as he guides her back against the lockers. Maybe he'd be a little less gentle than he usually is with her, maybe all of that pent-up frustration will end in a few days of soreness that neither of them will give two shits about.

"Bill."

Her voice snaps him out of his hazy daydream and he remembers quickly just how much he loves the sound of his name falling off her lips. The sound of it is hushed, but smooth and low in a way that makes him want to wipe that grin off her face with a kiss.

Their encounters, sensual rendezvous if you will, are never this way. It's almost always at his or her house while their parents are away. Always a gentle bout of lovemaking amid a flickering sea of candles on the bedside table. It isn't boring though. After all, he's probably had sex with her in just about every room in the house with the exception of the untouched late six-year-old's. But as a subtle, well-crafted "fuck you" to his neglectful parents, the night ended with her astride him on their bed as he gripped the sheets with white knuckles. Nothing has ever, even that sickly pleasurable experience in his parents' bed with her, has been as wild as this simply feels.

But she's moving toward him before he can even think about getting up.

The tension crescendos to a point where they can feel it, palpable and taut, between them. To where even as her body molds onto his and she straddles his lap just as she had that night in his parents' bed, it feels like too great a space to have between them. Now he doesn't even think about holding in his moans. His hand trembles as it reaches up to brush the hair back from her face and their lips meet in a sloppy kiss, their bodies already writhing with a pulsing need that yearns to consume and give and reunite.

But Bill doesn't know about the plan she made with their friends, who aren't too shy to the details of their sex life together, that includes this moment itself. He doesn't know that she's barely holding on as it is to not bail entirely and hike her skirt up her thighs as he obediently rests his mouth between them.

Y/N loses herself in his lulling kisses and the feeling of him, semi-hard, straining against his jeans to meet the merciless grinding of her hips. Everything else begins to blur now that his hands are slipping into her's. It all fades away, plan included, now that she can feel his soft palms resting on her own.

"Y/N," He says into her lips.

It's only when his conscience begins to whisper to him, when his thoughts flood with all of the words that have yet to be said that he stops kissing her with so much desperation. Why did she invite him here? Why did he even accept her onto his lap without apologizing first, without explaining everything and worshipping her with more proclamations of love than he's ever given her before. Why is she doing this now, of all times, after a week straight of giving him the cold shoulder?

And suddenly, it all clicks into place. The tight shirt and corduroy skirt that hugs her curves in all the right places. Her pulled back hair and allusive instructions to come here. It makes sense that she's practically dangled herself in front of him all day because it's all been to taunt him. It's punishment for the fight they're having and her way of winning.

Bill dodges her next kiss. He doesn't say anything, doesn't deign to stutter out a word, as he stands her back up from his lap, grabs his backpack from where she'd slid it off his shoulders, and walks out of the locker room to leave her high and dry.

Her plan backfired.

Y/N's chest rises and falls rapidly and she stares off to where she'd last seen him before he disappeared. How could she've been so selfish to her own needs? She just knows that the boys, especially Richie since it is the phase of the plan he concocted, will be incredibly disappointed to hear that he'd managed to do what she'd planned to do to him. He got her turned on only to leave before she could be satisfied.

She falls back on the bench he left her on with a whine.

-

The next four days pass with little strife for either half of the couple as Monday gave them.  
Even though she'd tried every trick up her sleeve, Bill ignored her and didn't give in now that he knows what she's up to. He didn't glance at her once in Human Phys and Anatomy. The rest of the week is boring for them.

So both them spend all day Saturday mindlessly keeping themselves busy in anticipation of the party. It was Eddie's idea to have them go to the party, to have her see him there since he's been ignoring her all week. And she knows that he'll be surprised to see her there when she does show up. It's the only possible way she can think of getting him to acknowledge her after their little showdown in the locker room. She can't help but want to hold her ground, to push back, win.

Until Richie showed up at her door to pick her up, and everything fell to pieces.

"I'm not going," She groans into her pillow and yanks the blanket up over her head, not letting him get one look at her.

The room is dark with shafts moonlight flooding in through the open windows, showing just enough of the dark room to see her figure under a disheveled pile of blankets. He flicks on the light.

"Why not?"

The only response is silence.

Richie runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply, and treads across the floor until he's found a spot beside her in bed. It isn't out of the ordinary for him to hang out with her up here, they used to do it much more when they were young, when she hadn't been in committed relationship, but even after all these years feeling the weight of her best friend on the mattress beside her is natural. He has to pull back blanket after blanket, searching through what feels like a fortress of fluff and feather, to get to the girl that lies beneath.

There are knots tangled into her hair, tear streaks flooded down her, and he nearly wants to turn away when he sees the sorrow on his friend's face.

"What happened?" Richie asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

She slaps her hands to her face and wipes away any trace of tears. It's been a long time since they've been sitting this way, alone in her room with tears on either one of their faces. Richie has always been her brother; family in every sense of the word. He's been her friend nearly as long as Bill has, so she sits up and clears her throat to speak.

"I don't think I can go tonight. I-" Y/N pauses, "What if he doesn't want me?"

The bedside lamplight shows off the color of the shirt she wears, Bill's-he realizes, that hangs off her frame with bagginess. Not dressed for a party at all.

"Ex-fucking-cuse me?"

Her eyes don't widen at his profanity but instead she only tenses expectantly. It started midday. After she'd kept herself busy getting ready for the party, cleaning up her room, getting rid of her notebooks for the end of school, and doing just about anything but sit and think about her boyfriend, she did just that. While it was happening, she'd just pushed away how badly being ignored, neglected, made her feel. But now that she's had time to think in it, now that she's stewed over the past four days in an endless blank stare at the ceiling, it broke her. Never had she realized how much Bill lifts her up. Never had she realized how utterly hollow it feels to not have him. The void he'd opened in his absence struck her hard and for the first time in five years, she's felt alone. So when the first sob came out of her, there was nothing she could do to stop it besides rub her makeup off and cuddle up in one of his shirts.

It still smells like him.

"You're fucking kidding right?" He asks and laughs, "Bill? Not wanting you? Not possible, sorry."

"Rich-"

He throws his hands out dramatically, his entire body flowing with the movement. Even a few of his curls bounce with him.

"No, cut that shit out right now and listen to what I'm saying."

The girl pulls a tangled tress of hair behind her ear and meets his gaze patiently. Everything is silent in the room, the only thing she can manage to focus on being the boy in front of her. She reckons that only Bill walking in could have tore her attention away from him. And she sees it in the boy's eyes. She sees the frustration and grief. She doesn't understand it, but accepts it nevertheless.

Richie says, "Bill has been miserable for the past two weeks and guess who's had to hear all of his girly whining? Me, Stan, Ben, and Eds. He's been complaining about how much he loves you even though he's mad at you for a stupid plan I made. When we were hanging out this morning it wasn't even him there, just some shell of him that's all sad and mopey and pathetic. Just like the shell of you sitting in this bed. This isn't you and you know it. Neither of you have been the same ever since I..."

The silence in the room grows so loud to her that it's deafening. And then, like a drop of blood spreading out into water, a quick thought disperses through her mind. A thought about the source of this fight, Richie, and why he'd even taken it as far as he'd done that night. Her mattress creaks with her shifting weight as her body scoots to lean further back against the headboard.

"Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

Silence, which in Richie language is code for 'continue'.

Y/N asks, "Did you do it on purpose? Making him upset, was that...did you know it was making him angry and do it anyway?"

And the confirming nod makes her heart fall into the pit of her stomach. How stupid had she been in wasting her rage on Bill? How stupid had she been in believing the lewd comments weren't purposely aimed to hit him right where it hurt? And suddenly she realizes how Bill felt that night, nobody taking his side, nobody getting how it felt to be put in his position. Even if shoving him was wrong, Richie had started it.

Her entire body goes still.

"I've always loved you and he's known it for a while now. You can scream at me, hit me, or kick me out-whatever. I'm the one in the wrong. You two just had to deal with the shit I put you through," He says, "I wanted him to feel what I felt all the time and it was wrong of me, okay? I've always been jealous of him. Because he's perfect Bill, cause he got the girl and got the happy ending. And I'm-I'm just Richie."

Just Richie, said as if he was some inconvenience to be cast aside. Hearing him speak that way about himself stings, but she can't manage to console him after that confession. He'd meant to hurt the person she loves the most, went after him on purpose, and that fact alone makes her simmer with anger. How could he do that to them? How could he, how could he, how could he?

Instead of doing any of the things he'd thought she'd do, instead of yelling or hitting or resorting to even kicking him out, she looks away from him.

"I don't know if I can forgive you for that..."

She wishes she had the energy to waste on yelling or at least asking him why he thought what he did was okay. The bed groans one last time in reaction to him standing up and not begging for her forgiveness, but only walking over to her dresser. It takes a few tries for him to find the right drawer but he does soon reach where she keeps her best-loved pair of mom jeans and tosses them onto the end of the bed.

"Isn't It going to be weird for me to show up like, well not dressed for a party?" Y/N asks.

The question is answered by yet another item of Bill's clothing that he'd left in her room once a few months ago, a well worn red Derry High School Baseball team sweatshirt. 'Denbrough' is splayed across the shoulders of it in black lettering, along with the number he wore while playing for the team all four years. And as she pulls it over her head, despite the heat of early summer already suffocating her, she can't help but relax at the familiar scent that lingers on the fabric.

"Just wear that. It's probably more comfortable than whatever scandalous outfit you had planned and plus he fucking geeks out whenever he sees you in that sweatshirt anyway."

It takes her less than five minutes to get the knots from her hair, gotten from rolling around while crying in bed earlier, to sweep it up into a lazy ponytail and slid the jeans up her legs. Usually, she'd wear a belt with them but she can't be bothered right now so they hang low on her hips. Richie stays with his back turned from her respectfully for once and he watches something intently through her bedroom window. At last, when she's finally decent enough to be seen by him, he spots her beside him from his peripheral vision.

It'd be a lie to say that things haven't changed in light of his confession of, not only what he'd done to Bill that night two weeks ago, but of his feelings for her. It'd be a lie for him to say that seeing them together didn't hurt him or make his stomach turn with sickness. It's far too hard to be happy for someone who has the love of the person you want and he wishes for the relief of moving on from her every chance he gets yet still, he knows that if she wanted him he'd melt right into her arms.

"I'm sorry I don't love you the way you want me to," She says softly, as if speaking any louder would make this mess of a situation worse, "I can't help that it's Bill, that it's always been him, and that it always will be."

His eyes flicker back to her one last time, this time not hiding the total want and adoration in them.

"I just hope that someone chooses you, really chooses you, and loves you the way you deserve to be loved. Because I know that if you look at them the way you look at me, they won't be able to help themselves."

-

The smell of alcohol hit her before anything else met her senses inside of the spacious home of the Jennings family. It's nothing too lavish or upper class, but it's surely nicer than most of the houses the people attending will go home to. And the second thing she notices, the people packed into every nook and cranny of only the front hallway they start through, confirms her earlier fear of not fitting into the party scene in what Richie picked for her. Every girl is dressed up as well, if not better, than shed planned to be and she takes a good few second stare to appreciate every lovely face of makeup she finds. But tonight isn't about the party dress or makeup that she'd left behind, it's about her finding a way back to someone she loves with every piece of her soul.

It may have only been two weeks, but its been the longest two weeks of her life.

"Where do you think they'll be?" Y/N yells to him over the thumping music and incessant chatter.

A quick glance across the room proves to do no good for them. It doesn't take long for her shoulders to slump with defeat as she realizes that tonight will be impossible. Between simply finding him, let alone getting him to talk to her, and managing to talk without messing up somehow, it'll be an odyssey. Because this is one of the parties that is out of control. When walking down the first hallway of Stacy's house, it took a strong grip on the collar of his jacket to not lose Richie to the sea of people. She can't imagine how much worse it'll get later into the night.

He presses his lips into a thin line and raises himself up on his tiptoes to see over the taller heads of the crowd. It's a little rocky here or there, some bodies dancing together, some grinding to the rumbling beat, but along the walls are where he really searches, and scans his eyes for the tallest of his friends only to find someone else waiting for him. They both squeeze their way across the floor to Stan, the one he'd spotted first, and Mike.

They're camped out beside the kegs and coolers with plastic cups in their hands, looking as if they already have a few in them at this point in the night.

"You made it," Stan says with a hint of a smile, "You want a drink? It's not the cheap shit we usually buy. Eddie says Stacy's parents must be loaded."

Her eyes fall over the crowd that she can't even see over again and then back to her friends. Its a party, so she should have fun if she can't find him right? If she were to search all over for him the moment she got here she'd look crazy anyway.

"Sure, thanks."

Every few minutes between the small sips she takes from her cup, her foot nudge's Richie's to signal for him to scan the room in search of her boyfriend. It seems to them that he disappeared from thin air, that is, if he even came in the first place.

The last party she went to was with him. They were invited to one that was much less lively this. It was at the house of one of his baseball teammates. Though he was one of the best players they had, he didn't fit with their group as friends and thus, the party was dull. It didn't help that it wasn't very good to begin with either. The night had gotten better later though. Just thinking about what they'd done to taint the backseat of his Camaro makes her core turn weak with the first inklings of pleasure and she presses her thighs together to provide relief. Her mind flutters from memory to memory, place to place where they'd had their fun and proved their love. And then she stumbles on what could've been in the locker room, had she just apologized before jumping on him. She can practically feel the cool metal of the lockers kissing her bare back as he pins her against them. It's that perfect kind of disintegration that she craves. But first, she has to find him and talk. That's the plan. Not Richie's or Stan's or Ben's, but her's.

The three boys sputter out a few excuses at her and rush away from their spot in the corner before she can bat an eye. The crowd seems to seamlessly mold around their bodies as they disappear entirely which leaves her to stand alone, holding a nearly full plastic cup of beer and no one to talk to.

"Stan!" Y/N exclaims, "What the fuck?"

Everything feels a lot closer now that they aren't there to distract her. The walls feel like they're inching ever so slowly across the floor just for her, just to squish her. She slips in pockets of open space between people at the lip of the tightly packed crowd and loses herself in the movement of those around her. It's difficult to keep upright, not to mention stop the drink in her hand from spilling, as she moves through. Girls grind on girls, some on guys, some guys grind on guys. For some god-forsaken reason, her friends had chosen the worst spot in the history of all parties to camp out at. Convenient for alcohol, horrible for spontaneous escaping.

The crowd pushes her around more than she'd like but thankfully she's not getting felt up by any handsy ninth grade boys as she has been at previous parties. Poor boy didn't even notice the hand on her waist or the boyfriend at her side, as well as he didn't notice Richie's fist hitting him square in the nose until he was sprawled out on the ground. But this is a party, an open house, only for Class of 1993, and so they all know if not already then by the name on the back of her sweatshirt, to not try anything.

The room she finally is pushed into is only the slightest bit smaller than the one she was in before and is, mercifully, less crowded. It's still hard to see through, but much easier to handle than the nightmare she'd trekked through only moments ago.

Why did they leave me? She wonders, where did they go?

Y/N stops dead in her tracks. Had it not been a face she'd spent do much of the last seven years of her life looking at and memorizing to herself, she would've missed it. Had it been Richie, Ben, Mike, Eddie, or even Stan, she shouldn't have stopped or noticed. But it's Bill who's leaning against the wall across the room from her that makes her halt in place. And it's the girl beside him that halts her breathing. Guys in their class aren't so quick to push up on someone's girlfriend, out the fear of getting the shit kicked out of them. Girls, on the other hand, have proven to her to be more of a problem.

Luckily for her, neither of them have seen her yet. So she watches, bites back her urge to go up for now, and sees something that makes bile is in her throat. Bill couldn't be deflecting her moves to get closer any harder than he's trying to. He steps away as subtly as he can from the girl, his face twisting in discomfort, but she moves in closer. The girl that dangles off her boyfriend's side is pretty, someone from a few of his classes this year without a doubt, one from the handful of girls who've crushed on him throughout High School. Her name is Lia.

For a while it feels like she's frozen, from it what can be distinguished as either fear or anger, in her spot in between the entryway of the two colliding rooms. And in this moment she understands wholly what it was like for him that night by the fire to hear everything Richie was saying about her, which only he knew weren't just lighthearted jokes. Whatever animal sense of being territorial he'd had then now flows through her freely, snapping off its leash when the girl crosses a line. When she nudges him into the wall and presses a kiss to his cheek. All while he tries to push her off.

Y/N becomes one with the fluid motions of the crowd, her body on autopilot and her raw rage crackling to the hum of a fire in her veins. Nobody dares to get in her way with the face of stone that now settles over her usually soft features. The room passes by her quickly and her steps are so sturdy, so sure that the beer doesn't splash up over the edge of the cup once. No, she can't let any of it spill, not until she wants it to.

And before Bill can even comprehend what's happening, Lia is shoved off of him and becomes drenched in a cup's worth of beer.

"What the fuck?" Lia shrieks, "What the fuck is wrong with you, you fucking bitch!"

The few people surrounding that can even hear the altercation over the music and talking stop to watch, but no more than a few. Her body pulses with a need to get her hands on him, feel his skin warm under her touch to just know he's there. Her entire being comes alive with this need to claim him and be claimed in return.

"Don't you ever, touch him again," She spits the words like venom.

He watches her seethe and nearly shake with an explosive kind of wrath he's only seen her hold a few times. He watches the only remaining onlookers glance away and finally, he watches her wrap her hand around his wrist and tug him away through the house.

The only other time she'd gotten this visibly angry in his presence was in eighth grade, just before summer began when Henry Bowers decided to torment him. They were walking home from school together to study and watch movies as they did every Tuesday. It didn't take long for the deranged older boy to appear though. It started with simple taunts and jabs at him, a few low blows here or there but nothing too serious that wouldn't later be fixed with a hug and some hot chocolate. He followed them down every street they turned down, yapping through the entire thing without end. It came to a point where they'd both silently agreed to keep their head down and ignore him, but that only made it worse. And he still recalls the yell she'd let our when Henry put his hands on him. Something about people touching him unsolicited, something about people touching him at all...

Y/N keeps her mouth shut, as if to say screw the plan, as she rushes up two flights of stairs with him in tow. Every drop of patience left her when she saw Lia's lips graze him. Every ounce of restraint disappeared when she'd dared to trap him there. The walls pass by her quickly, most doorways open and too obvious and some of them closed and quite clearly locked, as she searched for somewhere-anywhere. And he doesn't talk, he doesn't ask her why she's here, he doesn't do a thing. Because all he can think about is his own jealousy of Richie now that she's so worked up. Now his own blood boils with frustration, with the urge to let it out.

At the very end of the last hallway left in the house is a door cracked open. Good enough.

They barrel through the doorway, his foot kicking it shut behind them and her hands reaching around him to lock it as they at last crash into one another. She doesn't care to hold in her sigh of relief at his lips meeting her's. All that she cares about is the body before her and the soul that makes home within. The room might as well be an oversized walk in closet with its closed in walls and the double stacked twin mattresses at the edge of the room opposite to where they stand at the door.

Her gasp of delight as he shoves her back against the shut door sends shivers down his body in painstakingly slow spurts. Already it's built to be so intense and explosive. Already, she can feel herself turning into putty in his hands. Her lover is usually gentle with her. His actions are almost always experienced and slow. Bill has always been a sweet and patient partner when they shared a bed in this past year, never pushing her, careful to not be rough.

He kisses her hard and sloppily with the guidance of her hands framing his jaw on either side now. It's only that near boiling, festering frustration and anger that keeps them on. Their bodies squeeze against the door together as he abandons all of his usual bedroom grace and pulls her up by her thighs to wrap around him.

And his touches are no longer whispers that glide up her skin like ribbons of dancing silk. They're roaring screams and they don't entice her toward what she wants, they give it willingly. Immediately. Because he's just as needy as she is and the sight of her, jaw slacked and bottom lip drawn between her teeth just in front of him, makes those roaring screams turn into rolling clashes of thunder. He pulls back to shuck off the hoodie she's wearing only to realize, it was his. And something in him snaps at this, frees itself of any barriers, at the fact that she was wearing his name on her back. At the fact that despite this past week of fuck-ups and arguments, she's still completely and unashamedly, his.

That sweatshirt is thrown to the ground.

His. The flushed body in front of him seems to say it with every soft whine, his name in the curve of her lips, his name on the dip of her neck and collarbones. His name everywhere on her. His, his his.

"Off," Y/N half whispers and half cries into his lips, "Take them off, I need you."

Bill's eyes widen at her hastiness, but he doesn't waste a second before slipping his hands under the shirt. The skin of her abdomen shudders inward in the presence of his touch and she braces herself for the rush, for the tingles that are to come with his palms meeting her body. He lifts the shirt up much too slowly for her liking, the pads of her fingertips too light, too teasing for the fierce desire that torpedoes through her like a perfect storm. So she takes control.

"Enough," She snaps at him and slides down until her feet hit the floor, her shirt still halfway up her torso.

Gone are any signs of the sweet nothings and soft, rolling thrusts of their past escapades. Instead the girl usually he adores so dearly has been replaced with a woman desperate for dominance. It's clear in her eyes what she wants, to show him that he's her's and that he always will be. He knew the moment her hand gripped his wrist back in the party downstairs that this was it and that all of the welling emotions they'd been left with in the absence of each other were about to burst like the embers from a poked fire.

Before he can process the sharp word, he's being pushed back on the mattress by her guiding hands that lay flat on his chest and shove. The blankets accept him, cradle his back against the bed while he props himself up on his elbows and watches in awe as her shirt, the one she stole from him, lifts over her head. And though she can't hear it, he moans at the sight of her braless chest. Their bodies meet in a tangle of legs and a battle of who's in charge and currently? Y/N has him wrapped around her finger.

Her whines, so perfectly needy, make him squirm with anticipation and nearly tear his shirt in an effort to get it off. The music still thumps in the background, suffocating all of their sounds inside the room. Before today they weren't able to push through the barrier their fight built between them. It was two weeks of pain, of stolen looks and unsatisfied late night longing that could only end in frustration that they'll now take out on each other. They thrash and greedily drink up each others' movements. They nip, bite, and kiss their way across their bodies until they're practically pulsing with the inescapable want to become one.

Bill catches her off guard when he rolls her off of him and settles himself on top of her.

Moments like these have only happened in his fantasies and naughtiest dreams. If either one of them were to want to spice things up it was always her. He's always sat back and given her the liberty, the authority, to decide how it was going to be. Tonight though, they're both on the same page. Tonight, he's not holding back and she doesn't know what to expect from him now that she's giving him free reign. It makes that blossoming bud of pleasure that swirls in the pit of her stomach spread further down.

"Please," Y/N says into his neck, "Bill," her teeth nip at the sensitive skin, "Please."

The sensation of her teeth gently biting down on his neck is unmatchable. It's only a quick sting of pain, a pinch on the arm, a papercut's burn that doubles the shock of the pulsing bliss coursing through him. That slight flash of pain, he realizes, turns him on. His hands fly out to her hips and seize the waistband of her jeans, yanking and tugging the fabric down her legs with little care for modesty or foreplay. They want each other-need it-so there's nothing left to do but take what they want. In the midst of their heated kiss, their teeth clash into each other and every second they draw out the inevitable is a second of pure misery. Because there's nothing she wants more than to feel him inside of her again, to take away the fire burning in her and claim him, claim him completely.

With every hard push of his lips on her's and each layer of clothing removed, moans slip out shamelessly into the air surrounding them. They're reaching through the darkness of the room for each other. They're kissing and loving and indefinitely staining the moment into their memories until the only thing left is this battle, the rolling thunder their hearts.

Y/N's body is completely bare for him soon enough, which he rejoices in by running his hands over every inch of her over and over again. He could never become tired of the feeling of his lover underneath him. There's nothing that could separate them long either and this stupid fight was proof enough. No matter what happens or no matter how lost they become, they know in this moment that they'll always find a way back to each other. They'll always come back to this.

The darkness that she's now grown accustomed to envelops her, leaving no room for sheepishness or embarrassment. It's impressive that they know one another so well and have memorized each other to the point where they can stumble into a near pitch black room and still continue to be deft with their movements. Their first time was in the Holiday break of Junior year. They hadn't planned for it to happen but were prepared all the same when she'd spent the night with him on New Year's Eve. It was a learning experience, but it all lead to this and that's all that matters.

Bill's fingers tremble on the button and zipper of his pants and he moves as quickly as he can in shoving the offending fabric down his thighs far enough, not even taking it off all the way in his state of haste.

They both let out a relieved sigh when he first pushes into her. And once again he feels that slight sting of pain, but this time on his arms where her nails dig into him at the pressure overwhelming her core. She winces at the pain, overly sensitive since they hadn't done anything beforehand and went straight for it. The brushing of her breasts against his chest runs chills over the both of them, the peaked nipples enticing him forward as her entire body begins to writhe in an encouragement for him to start. Much to her shock, he doesn't bother taking it easy on her once because he can feel how much she wants this and knows how much she can handle from him despite that he's never pushed close to that limit before. Until now, with the first few thrusts he makes inside of her not nearly as gentle as he has been in the past.

It's because of the jealousy that he felt when Richie had been throwing around lewd words about her like it was nothing, like he wasn't even sitting right beside her. It's the image he'd involuntarily seen in his mind of his best friend and girlfriend tangled up together that makes him throw away any hesitation. Even thinking of another person's name right now makes his blood boil, especially the name of someone who wants the person he loves so badly. For her, it's Lia. It's the audacity of what she'd done knowing that he is her's. And so with every hard jerk of his hips into her's she can feel that word echoing around him. His moans are her's, his lips, his heart, soul, that beautiful mind, and everything that comes with it are her's.

Y/N's legs curl around his waist in one fluid motion and she meets his thrusts gratefully. She takes every one of them, her body so familiar to him that it grinds on him on pure instinct. The shape tips of her fingernails move over his shoulder and attack his upper back.

"H-Harder?" He mutters through a low groan after seeing her start to writhe with want again.

She nods. After over a year of sharing her bed, he's grown to know exactly what every one of her expressions and movements means. So he sees her eyes clenched shut, her mouth open in a gape, and makes the returning slam of his hips so hard that he can feel her stop breathing for a moment.

The sweat the breaks on their skin mingles with their bodies pressed together so tightly. His biceps contract with effort in keeping her against him as he flattens his hand on the lowest plain of her back to lift her hips off the bed in search of hitting a spot so deep inside of her that he knows will send her tumbling over the edge. The mere thought of seeing her finish makes him buck his hips roughly. His fingers loop into her hair, weaving into it to get a strong fistful as he continues on with his strained movements.

"Bill," Y/N pants in response, "Bill, please."

The angle of their hips adjusts just slightly and there it is, that perfect angle where he can hit every sweet spot she has all at once and it's all she needs to fall apart. He tugs on her hair, yanking her head back to expose her neck to him, and leans forward to nip at her skin. Her body goes boneless in his arms as release ravages her entirely. That impossible peak is hit again and again and again by his concentrated, rough thrusts. It's a certain kind of euphoria that washes over her in white hot flashes. It's a kind stronger than any she's experienced before with him. It's a kind so intense that she sees spots in her vision.

Her muscles tingle with exhaustion as he keeps on, so dangerously close to what she's just reached and desperate for it now more than ever. The rutting is sloppy and increasingly fast now that she's still recovering, quietly whimpering with a sensitivity that he doesn't dare stop in consideration of because he's determined to stave off his own climax to get her there again. And it works, so quickly she can feel it build again, even as the last hasn't truly left her she feels muscles tense with her oncoming orgasm and at the same time his do the same.

She whispers, "I love you. I love you, I love you-"

The moment that he knows for sure that she's finished again, he pulls out of her as quickly as he can in fear of finishing while he's still inside. He comes on her wavering stomach with her name falling off his lips. And she reaches down between them to help him along, her hand gentle on him as she helps him ride out his orgasm.

They stay like this for a while, foreheads met together and eyes shut in the wake of their respective climaxes. But she doesn't let her the limp weakness of her muscles and exhaustion stop her from leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. He kisses back lazily with saliva mingling in the tender brush of their mouths, not wanting to ever have to leave where he is right now. Not wanting to ever have to part from his lover. In the end though, he does pull back and he leans off the side of the bed to retrieve the stolen shirt to wipe his come off of her.

"Hey! I liked that shirt you know," Y/N says.

All Bill does though is note her pout and proceed to clean the skin so that she won't have to be uncomfortable any longer than she has to be. The shirt is balled up, carefully rested on the floor and his pants are back up his legs.

"Don't worry," He counters, "I'll g-give you another one."

Silence settles over them for a few minutes and he can feel her smooth skin glide on his as she cuddles into his side. Just as quickly as their new, angry side had emerged, it disappears into a calm peace as they are now nothing but satisfied in light of their reunion.

She's the first to break the ice, "I'm sorry, about everything that happened. Richie told me he did it on purpose and he told me about how he likes me. He told me you freaked out because you knew."

The music still thumps the against the walls of the small room they lay in, reminding her that there's still a party happening around them and that the world hasn't stopped spinning no matter how it may feel. She understood so well what he'd felt when Richie was talking about her at the Quarry when she'd seen Lia with him from across the room. When she saw how clearly uncomfortable he was, how she'd tried to trap him with her, all she saw was blood red rage. This whole time they were both wrong. She was wrong, Richie was, and so was Bill. And she wishes she had enough strength to look past her feelings to see the obvious truth; that Richie was trying to hurt him and though he resorted to violence, Bill was defending their relationship. He was making it known that messing with her isn't allowed. He was protecting what's his.

His head turns on the lone pillow to glance down at her.

"W-What'd you say?"

The tips of her fingers brush through the soft stands of hair that are stuck to his head with sweat, pushing them back into place.

"I said I can't forgive him, and that I only love you...that I always will."

His arm slips over her waist at the words and he pulls her nearer to him. A part of him is happy to hear that. He likes that she has enough respect for herself and for him to put someone in their place when they're deserving of it. The other part of him...He didn't tell her that Richie likes her because he didn't want one of her dearest friendships to be shattered. Years ago, the year following the worst summer of their life, he and the Trashmouth had a conversation about her and he confessed to those feelings. He said he wouldn't get in the way, that nothing will happen and he wouldn't try anything, only that he wanted him to know. So Bill swore he wouldn't spill the secret, trusting his friend enough to not make a mess of things. But it was mostly for her. It was so she wouldn't lose any other supports in her life.

"I'm sorry too. I s-shouldn't have gotten physical with him and I j-j-just-I'm so sorry, Y/N," He says.

And this is when she realizes, while he holds her in his arms like she's the most valuable thing in the world, that what Richie said earlier was wrong. He isn't perfect, but he's mine. Bill has always been flawed and maybe, those flaws are what make me so wild about him. Her lips are tender on his when she leans up and kisses him. She kisses him with all of the love she hasn't been able to give him all of these past two weeks. He even tries to follow her as she pulls back from him, still craving her attention on him and they both know they'll have to have another round when they get home later just to make up for all the time apart.

After a few more minutes of laying together, kissing, and holding each other close, they start to get dressed again. He helps her back into her clothes and lets her brace a hand on his shoulder while he slides the jeans back up her wobbling legs and buttons them closed. He makes sure to toss that soiled shirt in the trash before coming back to pick up that sweatshirt, before he pulls it down her torso with his knuckles brushing her abdomen the whole way through.

Before she can open the door he kisses her one last time, deep enough for her to feel the raw honesty in it, and says, "I love you."

For the rest of the night after they walk back downstairs and join their friends in the party, they suffer quite a bit of teasing. When she'd bitten his neck, she left a mark and her nails had broken skin on his arms. So they saw this and busted their chops about it. Even Richie, who's jealousy was only noticeable if they looked hard enough, was laughing along. They dance and laugh and kiss and talk their way through the night, at last together. At last reunited and stronger than ever.


End file.
